FIC: A Visit from a Stranger
Jun. 4th, 2013 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mithenTitle: A Visit from a Stranger
Fandom: Tolkien (a little Hobbit, a little Lord of the Rings, a little Silmarillion)
Pairing/Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Eönwë
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 1300
Summary: A stranger stops by to have tea with Bilbo, Frodo and Sam in Avallónë.
Note: A little story forstarsandsea on her birthday! I'm so happy to be celebrating another year in fandom and in friendship with you. *hugs*
"Sam," Bilbo called out of his window, "Are you ready for some tea?" Beyond his comfortable hole--so very much like Bag End--he could see the turrets and towers of Avallónë, the banners of blue and gold streaming in the wind.
"Oh, yes indeed, Master Bilbo, sir!" came Sam's voice. "Let me just clip a few of these roses..."
Within a few moments, he entered Bilbo's hobbit-hole, his arms full of roses. Their scent filled the room, richer and more perfect than the scent of any earthly flower, and their colors were hues undreamed-of by any mortal gardener. Sam started to arrange them in a crystal vase as Bilbo brought the tea-tray out and began to steep the tea.
"Oh, sir, I should be doing that," Sam said as he started to pour the steaming golden liquid, but Bilbo just laughed at him.
"You forget I'm not decrepit and doddering anymore, my boy! I'm capable of serving some tea!"
"It's not that, sir, it's just that--" Sam's voice trailed off as his gaze went beyond Bilbo's shoulder to the staircase, and as always Bilbo could tell that Frodo had just entered the room: Sam's open face was a horizon that glowed into life when its sun arrived.
"What lovely roses, Sam," said Frodo as he came forward to bury his face in them, breathing in their perfume. He smiled at Sam, his eyes filled with the deep beauty that comes only from long suffering healed at last. "Your garden gladdens the heart of everyone in Avallónë."
Sam flushed red, looking down at his feet and muttering something about Master Frodo speaking nonsense, clearly happy beyond words.
They were settling down to their tea when there was a knock on the door. "Can't a hobbit enjoy his tea in peace?" Bilbo grumbled cheerfully, heading to the door. He opened it and blinked at the figure standing on his doorstep.
He was tall even for an elf, built like a warrior, with long straight hair of such a pale gold that it glowed almost silver in the sunlight. He was wearing a severely-cut tunic of a deep cerulean blue, embroidered with a subtle pattern of silver feathers.
"Is this the dwelling of the Ring-Bearers?" he asked in a gentle voice that somehow seemed to hold trumpets within it.
"Why, yes, yes, do come in," said Bilbo. Such visits were not rare; elves came often to see the hobbits and take some tea with them. Bilbo was never sure exactly why: surely in this city of perfect beauty and light a trio of hobbits were hardly worth notice! "Would you like some tea?"
"It would be an honor," the visitor said, bending his radiant head and sitting down carefully on one of the guest chairs.
Bilbo poured him a cup of tea and he sipped it carefully. "What exquisite roses," he said. "I've heard tell of the gardens of Master Gamgee, but the tales did not do them credit." Sam flushed red again and spilled a little tea into his saucer. "And Master Frodo, people say your translation of the Athrabeth Finrod Ah Andreth into Westron is truly inspired. I was wondering if perhaps I could see some of your work?"
"With pleasure!" Frodo leapt up, beaming, and ran upstairs to get his latest draft.
The visitor looked it over, exclaiming with pleasure over the delicacy of Frodo's phrasing. His long fingers brushed the vellum, and he read out loud: "'He will ever remember thee in the sun of morning, and that last evening by the water of Aeluin in which he saw thy face mirrored with a star caught in thy hair.' Yes, you capture it beautifully," he murmured, and Frodo glowed with pleasure.
Later, when Frodo and Sam had gone back to their pursuits, Bilbo found himself alone by the fireside with his guest. It occurred to him, somewhat belatedly, that he had never asked the stranger's name, but it seemed late to inquire now. "Frodo and Sam are such dear boys," he said, lighting his pipe. "With such talents. My gardening skill pales before Sam's, and Frodo's gift for languages quite eclipses mine." He smiled fondly. "I have no master work to show you, I'm afraid."
"Ah, but you do." The firelight danced off his guest's hair and seemed to kindle his eyes into starry light. "My dear Mr. Baggins, your gift has always been for this." He gestured around at the cozy hobbit-hole, the soft chairs and homey decorations. "You know how to make people feel comfortable and happy. You bring out the best in others, create connections between people rather than divisions." A shadow passed across his regal face for a moment. "Would that more beings in Arda had such a gift."
Bilbo smiled at the praise, but there was sadness beneath the smile. "I just wish I had been better at it," he said softly, remembering for a moment eagles in the sky and the taste of ashes in his mouth. "I'm just a hobbit who loves food and song and the company of friends."
His guest smiled and moved the topic gracefully to stories of Bilbo's time in Middle Earth, stories Bilbo never tired of telling. "Ah, Rivendell," he said when Bilbo started to describe the hidden valley. "How I yearn to see it." The golden notes in his voice rang soft and almost mournful for a moment.
"Have you never been there?"
The stranger smiled slightly. "My work has kept me from visiting Middle Earth, except at such times when there was...no time to enjoy its beauty. It is pleasant indeed to see it through your eyes." He leaned forward. "Please, tell me more of Imladris, of its beauty. Of the people within."
So Bilbo did, detailing for him the delicate buildings, the constant melody of falling water, the friends he had made there. His guest listened and laughed with delight, as if he were hearing news greatly longed for. They talked until the stars began to come out, until the silver bells of Avallónë began to ring the vesper songs. Bilbo's guest closed his eyes, listening, then rose slowly. "Alas, I must take my leave of you now, Mr. Baggins. My work calls me."
"But you didn't have to come here to ask me about this," Bilbo said as he as he stood to see his guest out. "Surely Master Elrond would have told you all you need to know about his home."
"Indeed," his visitor said. "But I wanted to hear it from someone who did not know me."
"Oh? Is there bad blood between you and Master Elrond?" Bilbo couldn't quite believe it, but stranger things had happened between elves.
A gentle smile. "Not at all. But I'm afraid the...difference in status between us sometimes makes frank conversation difficult."
Bilbo frowned. "Master Elrond is a proud elf, but he never condescended to me despite being so far above me in power and majesty. I'm sure it would make no difference to him."
"Your loyalty to your friend is admirable as always. Perhaps one day I will ask him about his home," said the stranger. He bent to fit through Bilbo's little round door, and his robes rustled for a moment like great wings unseen. "My thanks, friend Bilbo."
"I'm sorry," Bilbo said, flustered by his own bad manners, "But I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."
"My name is Eönwë," said his guest, bowing. "And it was an honor and a pleasure to meet you."
And then he was gone, and Bilbo somehow did not see the manner of his going.
He inhaled the cool evening air, heavy with the scent of unearthly flowers, and looked up at the stars peeping through the clouds. Eönwë. Odd name. I'll have to ask Frodo if he's ever heard it before, he thought. But what a nice visit indeed. Such a pleasant chap.
----
Chief among the Maiar of Valinor whose names are remembered in the histories of the Elder Days...Eönwë, the banner-bearer and herald of Manwë, whose might in arms is surpassed by none in Arda.
Fandom: Tolkien (a little Hobbit, a little Lord of the Rings, a little Silmarillion)
Pairing/Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Eönwë
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 1300
Summary: A stranger stops by to have tea with Bilbo, Frodo and Sam in Avallónë.
Note: A little story for
starsandsea on her birthday! I'm so happy to be celebrating another year in fandom and in friendship with you. *hugs*"Sam," Bilbo called out of his window, "Are you ready for some tea?" Beyond his comfortable hole--so very much like Bag End--he could see the turrets and towers of Avallónë, the banners of blue and gold streaming in the wind.
"Oh, yes indeed, Master Bilbo, sir!" came Sam's voice. "Let me just clip a few of these roses..."
Within a few moments, he entered Bilbo's hobbit-hole, his arms full of roses. Their scent filled the room, richer and more perfect than the scent of any earthly flower, and their colors were hues undreamed-of by any mortal gardener. Sam started to arrange them in a crystal vase as Bilbo brought the tea-tray out and began to steep the tea.
"Oh, sir, I should be doing that," Sam said as he started to pour the steaming golden liquid, but Bilbo just laughed at him.
"You forget I'm not decrepit and doddering anymore, my boy! I'm capable of serving some tea!"
"It's not that, sir, it's just that--" Sam's voice trailed off as his gaze went beyond Bilbo's shoulder to the staircase, and as always Bilbo could tell that Frodo had just entered the room: Sam's open face was a horizon that glowed into life when its sun arrived.
"What lovely roses, Sam," said Frodo as he came forward to bury his face in them, breathing in their perfume. He smiled at Sam, his eyes filled with the deep beauty that comes only from long suffering healed at last. "Your garden gladdens the heart of everyone in Avallónë."
Sam flushed red, looking down at his feet and muttering something about Master Frodo speaking nonsense, clearly happy beyond words.
They were settling down to their tea when there was a knock on the door. "Can't a hobbit enjoy his tea in peace?" Bilbo grumbled cheerfully, heading to the door. He opened it and blinked at the figure standing on his doorstep.
He was tall even for an elf, built like a warrior, with long straight hair of such a pale gold that it glowed almost silver in the sunlight. He was wearing a severely-cut tunic of a deep cerulean blue, embroidered with a subtle pattern of silver feathers.
"Is this the dwelling of the Ring-Bearers?" he asked in a gentle voice that somehow seemed to hold trumpets within it.
"Why, yes, yes, do come in," said Bilbo. Such visits were not rare; elves came often to see the hobbits and take some tea with them. Bilbo was never sure exactly why: surely in this city of perfect beauty and light a trio of hobbits were hardly worth notice! "Would you like some tea?"
"It would be an honor," the visitor said, bending his radiant head and sitting down carefully on one of the guest chairs.
Bilbo poured him a cup of tea and he sipped it carefully. "What exquisite roses," he said. "I've heard tell of the gardens of Master Gamgee, but the tales did not do them credit." Sam flushed red again and spilled a little tea into his saucer. "And Master Frodo, people say your translation of the Athrabeth Finrod Ah Andreth into Westron is truly inspired. I was wondering if perhaps I could see some of your work?"
"With pleasure!" Frodo leapt up, beaming, and ran upstairs to get his latest draft.
The visitor looked it over, exclaiming with pleasure over the delicacy of Frodo's phrasing. His long fingers brushed the vellum, and he read out loud: "'He will ever remember thee in the sun of morning, and that last evening by the water of Aeluin in which he saw thy face mirrored with a star caught in thy hair.' Yes, you capture it beautifully," he murmured, and Frodo glowed with pleasure.
Later, when Frodo and Sam had gone back to their pursuits, Bilbo found himself alone by the fireside with his guest. It occurred to him, somewhat belatedly, that he had never asked the stranger's name, but it seemed late to inquire now. "Frodo and Sam are such dear boys," he said, lighting his pipe. "With such talents. My gardening skill pales before Sam's, and Frodo's gift for languages quite eclipses mine." He smiled fondly. "I have no master work to show you, I'm afraid."
"Ah, but you do." The firelight danced off his guest's hair and seemed to kindle his eyes into starry light. "My dear Mr. Baggins, your gift has always been for this." He gestured around at the cozy hobbit-hole, the soft chairs and homey decorations. "You know how to make people feel comfortable and happy. You bring out the best in others, create connections between people rather than divisions." A shadow passed across his regal face for a moment. "Would that more beings in Arda had such a gift."
Bilbo smiled at the praise, but there was sadness beneath the smile. "I just wish I had been better at it," he said softly, remembering for a moment eagles in the sky and the taste of ashes in his mouth. "I'm just a hobbit who loves food and song and the company of friends."
His guest smiled and moved the topic gracefully to stories of Bilbo's time in Middle Earth, stories Bilbo never tired of telling. "Ah, Rivendell," he said when Bilbo started to describe the hidden valley. "How I yearn to see it." The golden notes in his voice rang soft and almost mournful for a moment.
"Have you never been there?"
The stranger smiled slightly. "My work has kept me from visiting Middle Earth, except at such times when there was...no time to enjoy its beauty. It is pleasant indeed to see it through your eyes." He leaned forward. "Please, tell me more of Imladris, of its beauty. Of the people within."
So Bilbo did, detailing for him the delicate buildings, the constant melody of falling water, the friends he had made there. His guest listened and laughed with delight, as if he were hearing news greatly longed for. They talked until the stars began to come out, until the silver bells of Avallónë began to ring the vesper songs. Bilbo's guest closed his eyes, listening, then rose slowly. "Alas, I must take my leave of you now, Mr. Baggins. My work calls me."
"But you didn't have to come here to ask me about this," Bilbo said as he as he stood to see his guest out. "Surely Master Elrond would have told you all you need to know about his home."
"Indeed," his visitor said. "But I wanted to hear it from someone who did not know me."
"Oh? Is there bad blood between you and Master Elrond?" Bilbo couldn't quite believe it, but stranger things had happened between elves.
A gentle smile. "Not at all. But I'm afraid the...difference in status between us sometimes makes frank conversation difficult."
Bilbo frowned. "Master Elrond is a proud elf, but he never condescended to me despite being so far above me in power and majesty. I'm sure it would make no difference to him."
"Your loyalty to your friend is admirable as always. Perhaps one day I will ask him about his home," said the stranger. He bent to fit through Bilbo's little round door, and his robes rustled for a moment like great wings unseen. "My thanks, friend Bilbo."
"I'm sorry," Bilbo said, flustered by his own bad manners, "But I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."
"My name is Eönwë," said his guest, bowing. "And it was an honor and a pleasure to meet you."
And then he was gone, and Bilbo somehow did not see the manner of his going.
He inhaled the cool evening air, heavy with the scent of unearthly flowers, and looked up at the stars peeping through the clouds. Eönwë. Odd name. I'll have to ask Frodo if he's ever heard it before, he thought. But what a nice visit indeed. Such a pleasant chap.
----
Chief among the Maiar of Valinor whose names are remembered in the histories of the Elder Days...Eönwë, the banner-bearer and herald of Manwë, whose might in arms is surpassed by none in Arda.